


Icicle

by haeresitic



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Punisher (Comics), Thunderbolts (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Knife(sai)play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haeresitic/pseuds/haeresitic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elektra and Frank take a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icicle

Her finger twirled a strand of his hair; she pressed it against his scalp, leaned more of her weight onto it. Then it traced a path to his widow’s peak, trailed down the contours of his left cheek, his chin, his neck, reaching the collar of his tight shirt.

He’d have kept his gaze level at her eyes if not for the blindfold. He’d have kept his gaze even as she removed her finger and something cold, pointy, sharp replaced it, reverse-tracing the path of her finger, up his neck, pausing at his Adam’s apple—he can feel the tip of the sai pressing oh-so-slightly-deeper into his skin as it rose with his inhale—and then it continued its journey up, up to his lips where it stopped.

“Kiss it,” she whispered.

He hesitated; the sai’s tip drew a tiny drop of blood from his bottom lip. There must have been a speck of scarlet on her otherwise blemish-free sai as he kissed the cold steel.

“Lick it.”

He grunted; he tasted a coppery tang as he flicked his tongue against the blade. More tentative flicking, until she dug her fingers into his hair and shoved him forward, pushing the blade against the gap in his lips from where his tongue was about to dart out.

He licked the sai earnestly. A lap. And then a long lick up and down the shaft. He sucked the tip a little. Her hand in his hair didn’t relax and he continued licking the blade until it was slick with his spit, until a little bit of it started dripping down chin, swinging like a pendulum, lower and lower until it was a splat against his pants, his ever tightening pants.

She released her hand and she pushed him on the shoulders lightly but firmly, pushing him into his original kneeling position. He felt the tip of the sai again, so wet, so slippery, drawing a moist line down his neck again, his shirt. She traced the skull on his shirt. Then the sai dropped slowly to his stomach, and then down to where his shirt met his pants.

He breathed regularly, slowly. Maybe slightly louder than usual.

She pushed the sai up; the blade pierced the Kevlar-blended fabric easily, cleanly, just grazing his skin. The shirt tore quietly, but the room was so quiet (apart from his breathing) he swore it echoed in the room. Up, up, up. He knew she split the skull exactly in half.

He felt the breeze against his bare chest. She’d moved away; he hadn’t got Murdock’s super-hearing but he could just about make out the thuds of her boots against the soft carpet, and then her dragging the chair closer to her, her sitting down on it.

“Zippers,” she whispered in the same exact volume she’d used throughout.

He obeyed her. He’d taken off his cup earlier; his penis now poked out from the open fly.

“Touch it.”

He couldn’t help the hiss when he did. He didn’t even know he was so hard.

“Keep going.”

He started with his right hand, his left hand keeping the zipper away. He started slow. And then faster, faster, his knees dug into the carpet, started shaking, started buckling, but he kept his position. He grunted, he groaned; she remained quiet, although he thought he could hear her breathing getting faster. The blindfold was starting to drop, slipping in his sweat. It didn’t make much difference; the room was dark, and at the top of the blindfold he could only barely make out the red that clad her.

Pre-cum was staining his pants, dripping to the floor. He was so close.

“Stop.”

He groaned; he didn’t let go of his throbbing penis, it was so hot in his palm.

“Come here.”

He made to stand up, but her voice whispered again:

“On your knees.”

He had to crawl slowly, crawl towards that red he could see above his blindfold. His dick bobbed against his thighs, scraped against the teeth of the zipper; he had to keep his butt high so that it wouldn’t bump against the floor.

He smelled her, and then he reached out, felt the chair, felt her boots. The chair creaked; she was bending down, she took his blindfold. She stood up, one hand on his shoulder, commanding him to stay where he was. She was behind him, she took his hands, tied them together with the blindfold cloth.

She sat herself in front of him again. She took his chin in one hand. She guided him forward, forward to where her smell was strongest, her thighs already splitting apart, her other hand lifting the impeding part of her costume away.

“Remember what you did a few minutes ago, Castle?”

Her hand moved away from her chin to his hair. She didn’t exert any force; he scooted closer on his knees, he leaned forward, he pushed his tongue out. She had such amazing control of her body, he could hardly sense her muscles tensing up as his tongue flicked at the labia. He knew she could feel his breath through his mouth on her, warm air when he exhaled, cold air when he inhaled. He kissed the outer lips again, gently prodded at them with his tongue, slipping into the inner lips. Lick slow, lick slow. Up, down. Her hand was pressing harder against his head. He let his tongue slip into her vagina; he spread the slick mixture of his saliva and her lubrication around.

Her fingers dug into his scalp. He found the clitoral hood, he kissed it. Then his tongue was on task again; he licked it, licked south of it, the enlarged nub, he puckered his lips, sucked it, blew on it. Her hand pushed him closer, he almost lost his balance, his still-hard dick bobbing hard, grazing the floor. His moan vibrated against her and she hissed. The hand still holding her costume back moved down slightly, so that her fingers could crawl past the tangle of black hair; slight stroke, and then another one, more urgently.

His face was pressed against her; she was coating his eyelids, his nose, his chin (clean-shaven for today). He stole a glance up at her face; she was facing the ceiling, he could only see her neck, so fine like china, pulsing up and down, faster and faster. She was moving against him, bucking against him, up, down, left, right, shaking in the chair, his head tried to move with her rhythm, his dick bobbing up and down. He moaned, she moaned, she called his name, he muttered hers with exaggerated enunciation, she groaned, she came. He lapped her up, not stopping until she rode her orgasm to the end.

His tongue was sore, tired, aching. He moved his jaw up and down, licked his lips. He rested his chin on the chair for a while, and then he pushed himself back to his knees. His dick was not as hard as it was before, but it pointed at the chair persistently.

She stood up, went around him, untied his hands. The blood rushed to his hands, he wiggled his fingers, flicked his wrists, massaged them with still numb digits. Her sais had been on the floor all this while; she picked them up, put one into the sash around her waist; the other one she wiped with what remained of his shirt, taking care to press the blade against his skin. He shivered.

She walked away towards the door. He strained hard to hear her whisper.

“You can finish what you started now.”

The door clicked close. He plopped down onto the soft carpet, legs askew. He sighed and reached down.


End file.
